How Very Pinteresting...

Have you seen my “Home” on Pinterest?  That house is top-notch.  Unbelievably organized.  The decor is impeccable.  The kitchen--clean lined, immaculate; the tile imported.  And supposedly it shall be located in the Loire Valley in France on no less than three-hundred acres.  And my board entitled “Yum?”  Apparently, I cook organically, every meal of every day, from scratch.  And each dish has a pop of color and enough nourishment to last a lifetime.  Homemade bread?  No problem!  Coq au vin?  A cinch!  A suckling pig roast?  Sure, why not?  “My Style” shows off a wardrobe that is thought-out yet looks effortless: Chanel, Gaultier, and Jimmy Choo--oh my!  And my daughter’s “Bday Parties” board is so perfect you would think I hired Colin Cowie.  First birthday: Bienvenue à Paris, Second: TutuTea Party, Turning Three: Cowgirls with horses and hay and a tracker.  We live in a thirteen-hundred square-foot condo and cannot find enough room to store an exersaucer, but yes, a tractor.

This is all a totally reasonable reality, oui?

Mmm... NON!  Because it’s on Pinterest, and it isn’t real.  And I have an idea that I’m not alone (that’s right, because I “follow” you, and you, and even you  too!).  But regardless, I must ask: has this disease struck anyone else?  I have been hit hard, and it isn’t pretty.  I find once Bird is asleep, and the house is clean enough to not be shamed by, on to Pinterest I go.  It is my quiet vice, my momentary escape from reality (while at the same time attempting to plan my reality--how does that work?).

It is true that my fantasies come to life through these organized boards, splitting pictures and recipes and decor into their designated categories.  But I have also turned to this online mecca of ideas and tutorials for some much needed inspiration--a DIY hair accessory holder for my daughter’s bows and clips, red velvet whoopie pies for my red velvet-loving husband, and cabinet organization tips for bottles and bibs, just to name a few.  But when is enough, enough?  Because I could give up on my out-of-reach hopes of cooking for my family, and extravagantly-themed birthday parties for my daughter.  And maybe I should.  But when I get a tractor in this thirteen-hundred square-foot condominium, I’m going to be shouting from the crane lifting it up: “I told you so!”